Singing to an Ocean
by M. H. Marie
Summary: Episode of SN that takes place while Sam's in high school, from POV of OC teacher.


Jane failed to stifle a sigh and sat down heavily. She wanted to close all her folders for the day, go home, and crack open a beer or a candy bar. She wanted to throw the mountain of papers she still had to grade across the room and scream. But Sam was still here. She looked across the room at him, his brown-haired head bent low over his history book, scribbling notes away in his notebook.

Jane rubbed her eyes in annoyance, yet even as she did so she was mollified. Yes, the kids had been a horror today. Her students were fourteen-year-old high school freshmen, with pent-up anger, sexual frustration, and emotional unbalances. She understood that; but her understanding didn't prevent them from getting to her from time to time. Today, for instance, they'd ignored her, loudly made fun of her new hair cut, and one boy had even puked all over her skirt during third period. But at least one student was interested in American History; at least Sam wasn't a self-centered little beast.

He was on time to every class every day. He even stayed late every afternoon, as he was doing now. He was quiet, polite, intelligent, and driven. Yet those green eyes were too wide, too deep-they were the eyes of a child that grew up too fast. It almost unnerved Jane when, as she lectured, he stared up at her as if seeing through her. Sometimes, within the span of a single moment, he looked at her with such understanding and compassion... She couldn't explain it, but it was like he _knew._ But he couldn't, she reasoned. She hadn't told anyone. She would never tell anyone.

Despite the squirming feeling this induced, she couldn't help but like the boy. And be curious about his background.

Like now. Surely, even if his home was miles away, he could have walked that distance and been there by now. It was as if he didn't want to go home, or didn't have any real home to go to. Jane had mentioned this to the school's guidance counsellor, but that alcoholic bastard had shown no interest at all. So, Jane, sighed again and looked at the clock which read 4:45, and put down her red pen and crossed the room to him.

"How's the assignment going, Sam?"

"Good," he replied. "I've already finished the homework chapter ten, I'm just doing the reading for chapter eleven."

"But we don't start covering that until next Thursday," Jane said, stunned.

Sam smiled at her and said nothing.

Steeling herself, Jane sat on the table across the row from him and took off her reading glasses. "Sam, is everything okay at home?" she dived right in.

"Yeah, of course, why do you ask?"

She watched his face change; the quiet friendliness dropped like shudders on a window. "Oh, nothing," she said untruthfully. "Your dad's an ex-marine, right?"

"Yeah."

"What's he do now?"

"Hunting, mainly."

Jane thought for a moment. "Like bounty hunting, or commercial hunting?"

Sam considered. "A bit of both, I suppose."

"And your brother, he's what, eighteen?"

"Yep."

"He's dropped out of school though, right? He's the one that comes 'round here on his motorcycle, I think."

"Yep."

There was a long pause. "You know you can talk to me, if anything ever happens, right? I know it must be hard being a transfer student in the middle of the year. And maybe your dad is not so supportive?"

Sam didn't say anything.

"You know, if anything ever happens... if he ever hits you... or he ever abuses you... emotionally or verbally or anything, you can come to me, right?"

There was another long pause. Jane swallowed. "I just want to create a safe space. I know the guidance counsellor in this high school is a little... lacking. But I'm here for you. If you need to talk." She smiled at him in a reassuring manner, which Sam reciprocated in a faint mimicry.

"Of course," he said stiffly.

"Good." She went back around to her desk, feeling the slight alleviation she always got when she addressed a personal problem, or helped a student through a difficult homework question.

Sam immediately began packing up his things, placing his books quickly but gently into his army surplus bag.

She was midway through grading the first paper when he got to the door. "See you tomorrow, Sam."

"See you," he said. He took a half step through the doorway and then stopped. "Mrs. Dweyer?"

Jane looked up to see that disconcerting expression on his face, like he looked straight through her confidence and authority to the true self underneath, and was sad for it.

He hesitated, as if biting back something he knew he shouldn't say, but then continued in a rush, "You know it's not your fault, right? About your husband, I mean. He loved you."

Jane's pen fell to the floor. Sam smiled sadly at her, and left.


End file.
